Resolution
by Minibit
Summary: Mustang's New Year's Party isn't really Ed's scene, but maybe, with fate on his side and a midnight resolution, he can get something out of it after all.


Edward's eyes shot open as a weight fell down on the opposite side of the bed. Instinctively, he squeezed them shut again and held his breath, wondering if whoever it was had seen him. Heat flushed his cheeks, and even in the dark room he knew they must be blazing red as he remembered whose bed he'd been napping in.

He hadn't even planned to go anywhere that night, let alone to a house party at Roy's place, but Al had all-but pushed his brother out the door that evening, promising that honestly he wanted to go but he had to study, and at least one of them should have a social life. With the library closed for New Years, he'd found himself with few alternatives to the general's front door. His pulse pounded under his jaw as he waited for an answer, wondering if his knock had been heard over the dull roar of a party which ebbed through the wall. Mustang himself had appeared promptly however; either pleasantly surprised or very good at pretending, and looking damn good in a dark dress shirt and slacks; but with military posture and shoulders like that, he'd have looked good in an old sweater and jeans.

"Ed, glad you could make it." he said, stepping aside and holding the door open.

Edward shrugged his way in, returning the greeting with a mute nod and directing his eyes anywhere else.

"Nice place." he said, defaulting.

"Thanks, that's charitable of you. Here-"

Ed jumped at the touch of a hand on his left shoulder and the descending scent of gunpowder and spices. He felt his face heat and fought the appealing idea of leaning backward or turning around as he shrugged his coat into Roy's hands.

"Thanks" he managed belatedly as the older man disappeared into a side room with Ed's red coat under his shoulder.

Silence was his reply. It was probably too quiet for him to hear anyway.

He hadn't realized, when he agreed to stay on for the remainder of his military contract how much more he'd be seeing of the Flame Alchemist, and despite the increase in face time, physical closeness was still rare, often eliminated by Roy's rather impressive desk. Some days the damn thing seemed a mile across. Still, between briefings, debriefings, and living in the same city, he saw nearly as much of Mustang these days as he did of Al.

A year ago, he would've been griping. In fact he had been. It was nearly a routine, shouting a greeting to Al as he slammed the door if their shared townhouse shut. He'd throw his jacket over a chair, Al would sigh and hang it up, and listen silently as the elder Elric rattled off the daily sins of his Commanding Officer.

"And the worst-" he said on one occasion that summer, pausing to scarf down a bite of dinner, "-is how damn arrogant he is about every little thing; he's always throwing his rank in my face"

"He is a general now, brother."

Ed had squinted suspiciously at his brother. "Maybe so, but you should've heard him mocking me about my assessment coming up; he asked if I was going to 'let him defeat me again'"

"He did fight you to a draw last time."

"A draw! A draw isn't a defeat, it's a tie. Anyway I passed it didn't I?"

Al was silent, chewing his food. He swallowed and shrugged, reaching for his glass of milk.

"You sure talk about him a lot."

Edward had finished his meal in silence, feeling rather betrayed. Al's subtext wasn't lost on him, but the kid didn't need to put it out there in the open like that. He'd been trying hard to keep the growing monopoly Mustang had on this thoughts negative. Grudges and vendettas were things he could handle, and hating Mustang was an old habit. It was easy to blame the disparity of their personalities for the discomfort he felt the odd time there was no desk between them, or when Roy held his gaze for more than a few seconds. But as time went on, their insults and frustrations simmered down into a comfortable rapport. He stopped procrastinating debriefings and began storing in his mind excellent insults and comebacks for the inevitable short jokes which were taking on an alarming note of affection. He'd started to wonder if the man had always been this tolerable.

And then there was the first time he'd caught him staring. It was late summer, Fall was taking its time, and the summer heat lingered on as a tangible translation of the fiery orange shades tinging the leaves. He felt it before he saw it, and for a half-second, he had thought it was the warmth from outside tracing lines of fire across his arms from the rolled sleeves at his elbows to the tips of his fingers, and scorching through the thin fabric of his shirt. So far as Ed knew, science was still working on finding out just what alerts a human that the prickle on the back of their neck is a person staring and not a ray of evening sunlight, but his life at that point would have been a lot simpler without it. When he finally summoned the nerve to look and confirm what was happening, Roy had snapped his eyes back to his desk.

He should have challenged it, yelled at him, called him a pervert, something. Instead, he had kept the man pinned under a searching gaze of his own until he looked back up. After that point his attention was concentrated on remembering to breathe. The older man's expression was usually steel-bound; his tone neutral, his mouth set in a - by default - vaguely irritated line, and his eyes as blank as granite. But just then, the stonework had been pushed aside, and a bonfire roared in the depths of black inkwells; consuming, growing, and volatile. And then he blinked, and shifted his shoulders, and just like that it was over. He began his standard criticisms of Ed's inability to write a report without spelling errors as if his soul hadn't been bared for the last ten seconds while his subordinate nearly had a slow-motion heart-attack on the couch. The man would taunt his height, his temper, his inability to arrive on time, even set the tail of his braid on fire for talking back once, but this, this was apparently as dangerous as it felt. It was probably just as well they had resumed work the next day as if nothing had happened, Ed wasn't sure he was ready to hear it out loud.

Nevertheless, their dynamic had changed. It crackled in the air between them like electricity, sparking along the back of his neck when he walked away, lighting live-wires in his veins until he was sure his heart was going to explode. His perception had been rewired, and he found himself watching for another crack in Mustang's expression like an addict lusting after a fix. The most he got were snatches of a pained expression, and the scorching trace of his gaze across his skin. Any smart person would have called him out on it, but he wasn't creeped out so much as terrified of how little he minded.

Putting distance between himself and the Flame before he got himself caught in the blaze became priority number one. So when New Year's Eve came around and Havoc caught him after work to extend an invitation to what seemed to be an annual office affair to be hosted at Mustang's personal residence, of course Ed had turned it down outright. Possibly a little too emphatically, considering the alarmed fashion in which the lieutenant's eyebrows fled for his hairline. Still, whatever got him out of it. An off-work event with Mustang was risky enough, let alone one with alcohol involved; his inhibitions were frayed enough when he was sober, but then Al the Traitor had evicted him from his own home and left him with little else to do.

The townhouse was a decent size, opening on a wide hallway with a few closed doors to the left, the open doorway of a kitchen to his right, and what seemed to be the living room directly ahead. It was Spartan in décor, with no pictures on the walls and a bare kitchen save for some snacks laid out on one counter, and a line of plastic cups half-full of some light-gold coloured drink. He grabbed one on the way past. The living room wasn't much more interesting, holding little more than a table, radio, and a couch and chair. He spotted Havoc sitting on the couch, and slid into a seat, but the lieutenant didn't seem to notice. His attention was completely focused on the couch's third occupant; a tall brunette in a short red dress. Edward resigned himself to the admittedly rather comfortable corner of the sofa, and watched the inscrutable socializing in silence between awkward hellos.

About halfway across the room, their esteemed host was being calmly social, gently swirling a rocks glass of something amber coloured, and occasionally glancing at Havoc's efforts on the couch with a bemused smile. Despite being off-work and seeming more relaxed, his expression was as airtight as ever, lips frozen in a politely interested smile and the dark depths of his eyes shielded. Edward watched in fascination as he moved with unconsciously military posture from one trivial conversation to the next, expression never faltering. It was strangely comforting to see a note of uncomfortable solidarity in the older alchemist.

Ed jerked his gaze away before Mustang looked his way and caught him staring, and went back to working on his drink. The first one had tasted bitter, but that was at least a half-hour ago and now they were going down pretty easy. He finished it off and set it down on the coffee table where it was scooped up by a petite girl with black curls. He was fairly sure she'd introduced herself as Feury's cousin at some point.

"Refill?" She asked, nodding at her own empty cup. He nodded, and she disappeared.

The party was a small affair; mustang's crew were there, and a smattering of people Ed didn't recognize: plus-ones and a few friends of friends. It was overall a happy medium between a noisy bar and a silent home, with tolerable music in the background, snacks in the kitchen, and flowing drinks.

Speaking of, where'd that girl get to? It had been an age.

He stood up to go find his refill, when Gravity had a hiccup and he found himself leaning on someone's outstretched arms.

Hawkeye looked military even in jeans and a black turtleneck. Her steely gaze studied Ed's face with a seriousness that made him feel rather uncomfortable. "Are you okay, major?" She asked as he straightened. He nodded, trying to brush off her concern but finding himself tripping over his own shoes.

"Here," she ducked far enough to scoop a glass of something clear off the table and offer it to him. He sniffed it. Water?

"Drink that" she directed, slipping her arm around his shoulders and moving them away from the couch.

It tasted awful - well, it tasted boring. It tasted like something that was not going to help him hide from his thoughts, and he glared at it.

"Drink all of that, and get some air" the lieutenant directed. He nodded, shrugging out of her grip. Actually, air sounded great.

Mustang's townhouse wasn't very big, but a few doors down from the kitchen was a dark bedroom with a big pile of coats on the bed, his own red sleeve poking out from the middle. He'd stepped inside, looking around with a mixture of caution and curiosity.

The room was nearly without furnishing except for a cluttered desk near the window and a single nightstand on the side of the bed nearest the door. There were a few worn books stacked on it, and an alarm clock. He ran a finger over the aged volumes; it was hard to make out titles with only the light from between the door and it's frame. One seemed like an old journal, hand-bound and marked with a longhand 'H' at the base of its spine. Another looked like a novel, and he glanced past it disinterestedly. The third and topmost book appeared brand new; the open pages gleamed white in the dim light, and lined up smoothly without a wrinkle or dog-ear to be seen. The front cover dangled behind the stack with a good chunk of the pages. Carefully, he lifted it up, stooping as he did so to peer at the title.

"Flames of the Ages"

A smile lit his face as he let the cover fall back and stood up. He knew this book, it was a history of fire alchemy and related types, it included memoirs of famed alchemists in the field, circle sketches, and news on alchemic experiments in the field at the - respectably recent - time of publishing. It had been his present to the colonel in the office's Secret Santa.

The muffled sound of steps in the hallway spun him around, as he tried desperately to erase the idiotic grin from his face and come up with an excuse to be dawdling in Mustang's bedroom.

Ed circled around to the other side of the bed. The coat pile divided it in half, bulky winter covers stacked up at least a couple of feet in height. He laid himself down carefully behind its shield, settling his head on a pillow that smelled like smoke and spices, and closed his eyes.

And now, what, had he slept past midnight? No, he could still hear the chatter and clatter of goings-on down the hall. So why had the host retreated to his bedroom already? He wished he could see the clock.

Ed bit his lip as the mattress shifted beneath him, silently willing the older man to stay lying down until he could think of a way to get away.

After a few minutes, the breathing to his right became slow and even, and Edward screwed up the courage to ease himself into a sitting position.

He had already been certain, but it was still rather startling to look down and see the colonel's sleeping face. He'd fallen on top of the covers, fully dressed, and Ed had never seen his face that calm before. His narrow eyes were shut, and the creases of worry between his brows had been smoothed away. His lips were parted, moving slightly with each breath.

Suddenly, he didn't feel such a rush to leave.

Tucking his knees up and settling his chin on his fist, he let his eyes rove over the dishevelled officer. It seemed strange to see Mustang asleep like this. He was out of uniform for the party, in just slacks and a button down shirt that looked black but could have been dark blue. It had probably been pressed when he put it on, but was now rumpled around him from shifting on the bed.

It felt like ages since he'd had such personal proximity to his commanding officer, although counting back, Ed supposed it had really only been a week. They'd been kits outside of work, Ed coming down the steps as Roy headed up. He must have slipped on the ice, and they collided in a flurry of coat sleeves and snowflakes. He landed on his back, the concrete steps digging into his back and the wind knocked out of his chest. Even if it hasn't been, he was startled enough at the sudden proximity of mustang's face that his angry exclamations died in this throat.

White freckles of snow had dampened his hair in streaks against his pale temples, and sat like winter lace on the collar of his coat. His breath clouded in tiny puffs over Ed's nose and his dark eyes were wide, gears turning in the endless inkwells as he got his bearings.

It was the colonel who broke the silence. Clearing his throat and standing almost before Ed saw the brush of coral on his cheekbones. He murmured an apology and offered a hand to help Ed back on his feet. Edward shook himself back to frozen reality and grabbed his wrist with more force than was strictly necessary. People often failed to consider the weight of his limbs, but the colonel's stance was as unyielding as the gaze fastened to his face.

He'd meant to say something so cutting that Mustang would forget the gawking expression he'd been wearing for at least five seconds, but all he came up with was

"Watch it." before stalking away with a burning face as fast as his frustratingly undersized limbs would take him. It didn't occur to him 'til halfway through dinner that day that he'd had another three hours left on the clock that day. Mustang never brought it up.

Ed glanced at the nightstand; it was almost midnight. There was still time to get up and rejoin the party, he thought, brushing a fallen bit of hair out of Roy's face and wondering when he'd stopped mentally referring to the man by rank.

Ten, nine, eight…!

Closer than he thought, Ed mused, glancing in the direction of the living room. Absently, he wondered how far Havoc had gotten with that girl, and if anyone had noticed their host was missing.

There was a strange sense of peace in the muffled bedroom, with the growing clamour outside Ed had rather the feeling of harbouring a fugitive. It was silly of course, Roy was good at these sorts of things. Still, outside they'd be gathering round the clock and pairing into couples for midnight kisses and here, in the intimacy of the shadows, he had Roy all to himself. He wondered if he would be upset at sleeping through it.

Looking at the lines of exhaustion on his face, probably not.

Four, three, two…!

Still, it didn't seem fair that he should miss out entirely. And besides, they were alone, un- observed and unmarked. New Years was, after all, a time for taking chances.

One…!

His lips were soft, and tasted faintly of whiskey. Moving back a few centimetres, Ed carded his fingers through soft black hair and smiled the smile of one who knows a secret as a roar rose up from the living room and for once, Ed found himself in enthusiastic agreement with the majority.

"Happy New Year indeed."

From


End file.
